2001-10-16 || 2:24 p.m.

|| 2060 ||

last night i turned the corner onto that street for no good reason at all. except to see if there was any kind of lingering evidence. brake marks from bicycle tires or paint splatters on sidewalk. the curtains i bought with the fringe and pom poms still hanging in the window. it's haunted now: kids standing in a semi-circle on the driveway lighting firecrackers, elliott standing on trash cans to pull fruit from the trees, couches in the backyard with beer stains and cat scratches, grease splatters in the kitchen, rollerskates. ouija board. the awful things i made out of cardboard hung on lime green walls. microphone fastened to a coat hanger. you. and me. and bryan. and ben. then owen. and becky. and the revolving cast complete with cats and cardboard boxes full of clothes and keyboards and videos in the living room. and looking at the house from the outside, peering into the dollhouse, the inside overlaps and changes. defies physics and reason and memory. i sleep in the place other girls are sleeping, we are all kissing you at the same time but taste vaguely different. there is cigarette smoke in the hallway but it is hard to discern where it is coming from. music is streaming out of windows. there is a joy division poster hanging in the spot where there is a picture of woody allen where there is a photograph of your father drinking a can of beer. if you look directly at the couches for long enough you can see them slowly wandering back to the ghost of places they have sat before. stains appear and disappear and reappear. and there are voices, of all of us.

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